


After the Storm [Life is Strange]

by Sinnex



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Guess who's dead, Romance, Tags will be updated with the story, pricefield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnex/pseuds/Sinnex
Summary: -Sacrifice Arcadia Bay Ending-After the storm that took away their childhood home, Max and Chloe head out north to kip with the Caulfields as they try to sort out the strands of their past, and the choices they've both made. A malignant figure from their past pursues them, though, bent on taking from them what they took from him.





	1. Sunrise - Oct. 13

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. All choices in this story were taken from Jacksepticeye's playthrough, with the exception that Pompidou is saved and Kate did not commit suicide.

            The soft _schhf_ of a bird’s wing greeted Chloe as she swam out of a doze, the sunrise sending light shafts that bore into her eyes. Groaning softly, she raised an arm to cover her eyes, blinking away the sleep. A small movement alerted her to the presence of Max, her head on Chloe’s lap, cushioned by her old jacket. The punk smiled at the sleeping girl, then lifted her head to stare outside. Her eyes fell on the mostly empty parking lot, then rose up to stare at the rest stop station, a little building made of metal and glass. A cramp in her leg reminded her to get up and stretch her limbs, but she did not want to wake Max from her slumber. Hell knows the poor girl needed the sleep, after the shitty week they’ve had.

            Slowly, she opened the driver’s side door, freeing one leg. Using her hands to support her, Chloe let Max’s head drop onto the seat, arranging the makeshift pillow for more comfort. She softly closed the door after her. Making her way slowly to the hood of the truck, she dug out a cigarette from her jeans pocket and a lighter from the other. Clamping the filter between her teeth, she lit the end, inhaling deeply. _I need to medicate._ Sometimes the nicotine wasn’t enough, but pity, her less-than-legal stash of weed had blown away with the town.

            The town. Chloe exhaled a cloud of smoke, her brow hooded further. Arcadia Bay. Tapping the cig against the grill, she sighed, raising her head to stare into the sun. She remembered the day she stood up on the cliff with Max, voicing her thoughts. _“This shit-pit has taken away everyone I’ve ever loved… I’d love to drop a bomb on Arcadia Bay and turn it to fucking glass…”_ How true that had turned out. How starkly, awfully true.

            She took another draw. That was… hell, only six days ago. It seemed like several lifetimes ago. She never meant for all of this to happen… or did she? Max had used her powers to save her, the first time, then time and time again. It was her that she chose to save, instead of the hundreds of residents in Arcadia Bay. A pang tore through her heart. They’d driven past the wreckage of the Two Whales, the building deserted, the ceiling collapsed. By the way Max’s face had looked as they drove past, it was where her mother had been sheltered. She, Warren, and Frank, that old bastard – they were probably dead and gone now. It didn’t stop the hurt.

            **On the bright side of things, Chloe, step-douche is probably still alive.** _Not that you even bothered to check or contact him yet._ Chloe sighed deeply, and then hacked out a rattling cough. David. She hated him so much, but then again, in a different reality, he’d saved Max’s life. In so many other realities, he’d given up his life to do so. He was in the creepy Dark Room with that Jefferson asshole, and that place was a literal bunker. He’d probably survived, along with that murdering creep. She should call him, at least try to get a connection with him. He might know if her mother had survived. But with the wound so fresh, Chloe wasn’t prepared to receive bad news. She probably never would be.

            “Hey.” The voice startled Chloe, and she jumped, twisting around to face the windshield, dropping her cigarette. The tired face of Max looked back, rubbing her eyes. Chloe smiled slightly, stamped out the burning cig on the ground, and walked around to the door. Pulling it open, she scooted in next to the stretching hipster.

            “How’d ya sleep?” She asked in a ragged voice.

            “Like hell.”

            Chloe nodded silently, pensive. She rested a hand on the steering wheel, and pulled out her phone to check the time. 8 o’clock on the dot. Tilting her head to look at Max, she made a motion forward.

            “Time to go?”

            “Wait.” Max replied, digging out her own phone from her bag on the floor. As Chloe watched, she turned it on, and scrolled through her messages. From what she could see, there were a lot from the Caulfields, several pages of text, each. A little spark of jealousy went through her. Both of Max’s parents were still definitely alive, and she didn’t need to worry about them dead. Quelling the spark, she stared out at the lightening sky as a dial ring sounded, and then muffled as Max held it up to her ear. Chloe sharpened her own ears, straining to hear the conversation.

            “Hey mom.” There was a loud whoop of “MAX!”, then a sigh of content. The parents’ voices dropped, and they began to presumably grill Max about her safety.

            “Yeah, dad, I’m okay, no cuts or anything serious…

            “Blackwell’s destroyed, I couldn’t get anything from the dorm…

            “My friends…? They’re… I don’t know…” Max glanced towards Chloe with those haunting blue eyes.

            “Hey, mom? Do you remember Chloe? Chloe Price?” The aforementioned girl leaned towards the phone as Max beckoned her over. She could hear the voices now.

            “Of course we remember Chloe, honey. How is she? Is she safe?” Chloe’s heart warmed at the concern in Vanessa Caulfield’s voice, and she took the phone that was offered.

            “Hey, missus Caulfield.”

            “Chloe! How are you? It’s been ages since we’ve talked to you, how have you been?” Vanessa lowered her voice, and a tinge of hesitancy came into it.

            “How’s Joyce? I know we left at a very terrible time for you. William was a great man.”

            Her chest tightened again, and it felt like her mind was drifting away. Her vocal cords spoke of their own accord.

            “I’m doing good, but Joyce… My mom, we don’t know yet if she’s okay.”

            There was a little sigh, and then Mrs. Caulfield spoke again, the air filling with her motherly concern that reminded her of her own mother.

            “We hope that she’s okay. She’s a tough woman, I’m betting on her being alive.”

            She nodded past the lump in her throat. Clearing it, she muttered a quick thanks, then shoved the phone back towards Max, who took it with a sad look. She kept talking to Vanessa as Chloe stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap.

            “Bye, mom. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.” Nodding, Max ended the call, and they sat in silence for a while. Chloe felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at her dark blue eyes, locking onto hers. A second passed. Max dropped her hand as Chloe smiled thinly at her, raising her head and placing her forearms onto the wheel.

            “We’re off?”

            “We’re off.”

            The engine coughed as the wheels spun, and they drove across spray-painted lines as they headed north.


	2. Weed Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick pip, eh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every even chapter will be a quick, shorter one from the POV of our favorite time-rewinding protagonist.

          The soft morning turned into a cool fall noon. Blasting rock music, the truck whizzed along the interstate north, heading to norther, more greener pastures. Chloe's head nodded along to the drums, a faint smile on her face as she kept the rust heap in line. Max leaned back, occasionally scritching away in her journal.

_October 13th._

_It's been a crazy few days. I still don't know why this happened to me, to us. We've left behind the dust and debris that I've caused. I don't know if I still have my powers, and I'm terrified to try to find out. What if I wreck Seattle? I can't help but feel like I've made the wrong decisions, but I wouldn't have it any other way... Alright, maybe I would. Chloe and Arcadia Bay too, safe and sound. I feel like there must've been a way to save both of them, but in that moment, I was so scared... It was my fault. We drove past the wreckage of the Two Whales, Pan Estates, and Blackwell. It was painful, but I knew - if I had to do it over again, I would have chosen Chloe again in an instant._

_After the storm, we picked over what was left of our residences. Good news: I still have my guitar. Bad news: my plant is dead. I managed to save some of my old photos and clothes, but not much was left. Chloe salvaged some items from the ruins but refused to go back to her home. I didn't think pressing her was a good idea, so we moved on. Around a dented trailer smelling of marijuana, Chloe found a couple grand in cash, enough to get us to Seattle and out of any possible scrapes. Good old Frank._

_On that note -_

             Suddenly, there came a bark and a whimper from the truck bed, and the scratching of claws behind them. Max nudged Chloe with her elbow, and dutifully, the older girl turned off onto a rest stop. Parking in an empty spot with the bumpers sticking into opposite slots, they got out, the doors slamming behind them.

              "Hey, Pompidou, come on out, who's a good boy," Max chided the seemingly empty truck.

               Two brown, floppy ears peeked over the side of the truck, followed by two paws and an annoyingly adorable head. With a loud bark, the dog turned into a brown blur, rocketing towards a crossed-arms Chloe and knocking her down onto the pavement. Thank god that her reflexes were quick, and she just barely saved herself a nasty knock on the head.

                "Th' fucking dog's try'n'a kill me!" She howled between loving kisses on the face by Pompidou. Max was doubled over laughing, the peals of mirth from her making the hardcore punk smile, too. She fought to be free of the dog's endearment, but failed. Subjecting herself to the mutt's admiration, she glared at Max. The sunlight reflected off her pale skin, blue hair, and bright tattoo, making her nearly glow.

                 "Why am I being assaulted by this weed dog?" She demanded to know, staring straight into Max's eyes, the type of stare that she knew and loved so well.

                 "I'm pretty sure it was because you fed him when he came whimpering up to you. You know, 'feed a stray, and he's no longer a stray.'" Chloe glared some more, defending herself with her forearms. Pompidou, never to be discouraged, fought between her arms to lick at her chin.

                  Thoroughly defeated, Chloe sighed as Max sat down beside her. Pompidou diverted some of the attention to her, jumping up on her jacket and slobbering over her bag.

                   "Perhaps some chew toys or proper dog food. I think I saw a pet stop out on the highway ad sign. Get myself some more cigarettes along the way." Max disliked her smoking, but she convinced herself that she'd try to help Chloe quit later. For now, she just smiled at Chloe, who seemingly was subjecting herself to her fate, looking off towards the rest building.

                  "That'd be great. We should pick up a leash, too," she agreed, and the trio got up and walked away from the truck, the weed dog bounding around their ankles.

_I don't even know what we have between us. I might have killed her entire family, and she might hate me now. There's so much hurt here, and I'm not sure we can ever get over that. I want to think that we can. We can try._


	3. Evening - Oct. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe, bidden by her curiosity, goes out and gets news about the rest of the world's reaction to Arcadia Bay. Angst and apologies follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst! Glorious, awful angst.

                As the rain drilled down outside, Max flipped through a bad magazine, clearly criticizing the photography. Every so often, her face would smile gently, and with a rustle of thin paper and a creak of bedsprings, she’d lean across the motel bed to show Pompidou a photo she liked or disapproved of or a caption that she’d read aloud, and chuckle to herself. The mutt would smile back toothily, then lick her hand and rest his head back onto his paws. The click of the door shutting over the tinny sound of the radio playing "Mountains" made her look up, and smiling, she set aside the magazine on the chipped nightstand to look at a dripping Chloe, tugging the rainwater out of her blue hair and locking the door after herself.

                “News?”

                “Yep.”  Throwing the handful of slightly soggy newspaper onto the twin bed, Chloe sank down in a stale armchair, itching for something to fiddle with. Her request was fulfilled as the patchy brown mutt of a dog jumped onto her lap, even though he was forty pounds over a lapdog. She played with Pompidou’s flappy ears as she watched Max pick up the topmost paper and flip through the pages.

                “Where’s the article?”

                With a humorless laugh, Chloe spat out a reply.

                “Page three. The destruction of my town – our town was forced to the third fucking page. At least we got a line, eh?”

                Max silently read the article, her eyes flicking down the yellowish paper. Her lips pressed together, and as she neared the end, her eyes fell and she cast the paper aside. Her voice trembled.

                “Body counts uncertain… But, at least, Arcadia Bay is a small, remote town. This article was probably published early today, which doesn’t give a lot of time for the reporters to have gotten much information…” Max faltered at Chloe’s stormy face.

                “I’m going to take a shower,” she said abruptly, and got up, dumping Pompidou on the floor and leaving a dejected Max cross-legged on the bed.

\-----------------------------------------------------

                Standing under the cold spray of the shower, facing the showerhead with her eyes closed to the bitter spray, Chloe heard the bathroom door open. She sighed, and turned her head from the water to talk to Max.

                “What do you need?” she practically growled at her.  Max’s shadow on the shower curtain hesitated, before she sighed and seemingly boosted herself up onto the sink counter to sit there, the empty counter thumping under her heels. Chloe ran a hand through her hair, watching the faint lines of blue between her fingers run down the drain. It was easier to avoid someone’s gaze if you’re behind a curtain.

                “I’m not here for me. I wanted to ask you if you need help… Or...” There was a long period of silence, when the only sound was the crashing of the water inside the shower and outside the building.

                “It’s painful. I – I don’t blame you if you hate me for choosing y – to save you. I’m sorry.” A breath’s pause.

                “I’m not going to try to encourage you – to cheer you up.  I guess… I’m just, I’m sorry.”

                Max slid down the counter and opened the door. Chloe cleared her throat and looked up at the cracked wall, cursing herself.

                “Max… Max, wait.” She turned off the water, the pipes groaning. Max’s shadow stopped, and she tilted her head. The drip of the water added to the tension between them. She cleared her throat.

                “I don’t blame you. I do feel like there could have been some way – hell, anything, but I know. It, it wasn’t in your control. Sometimes, life has a way of fucking you up and leaving you in the morning when you’re hungover and broke and feeling like the utter shit on the bottom of the shoe of the world, to ‘grow up’ and sort everything out. ” Her voice rose in anger, but quieted down again at the end.

                “Life is…. Shitty.” Chloe waited, looking down at the bright ink on her arm. She cupped an elbow in her other hand, chin dropping to her chest. This was strange to her. She realized that it was more to convince herself than Max, and she hated that about herself. _Still so selfish, Chloe._

                “Yeah.” The door closed.

                **It sounded slightly more upbeat, at least. Good job.** _You made this awkward._ She sighed, head down, and stepped out of the shower, dressing herself back into her dirty clothes slowly. There was lead in her limbs as she walked out of the shower, avoiding looking at the bed where Max was sitting. She grabbed a paper from the bed and sat back in the chair, eyes staring at the paper.

                “Chloe.”

                Chloe didn’t look up, the thoughts inside her brain whistling by like trains on a rail bound for a broken bridge. She was so isolated in herself that she jumped at the soft hand on hers that gripped hers with more firmness than expected.

                “Chloe, please.” There were tears in Max’s voice, and though her stony, cold indifference was comforting and protecting, she knew that she physically and mentally could not see Max so depressed on her count.

                She set aside the newspaper and looked slowly up at the beautiful face of Maxine Caulfield, her own SuperMax, looking so much older than that day when she first saved her. _You’re so selfish, Chloe. Still only thinking about yourself. Always only thinking about yourself._ Chloe wanted to scream at the voice, to tell it to fuck off to the deepest, darkest pits of hell where it could bother her no more, but she held her tongue and opened her arms to Max. With a soft rustle, the younger girl collapsed into her arms, allowing Chloe’s arms to fold over her like a wall protecting her from the world. She inhaled the smell of Max, a combination of faded citrus, mint, and the weary smell of the guiltily responsible. She hated that last smell, because she knew it so well. A small splatter of a tear on her collarbone made her start slowly patting Max’s back, hugging her closer to herself.

                “Shhhh, shhhh… ’S okay, I don’t blame you. I did hope – ” **Not the time** , she yelled at herself, trying to put on mental brakes, but the words just tumbled out unbidden.

                “-Hoped that there was some way for both of us to live, me and Arcadia Bay, but…” Chloe nodded slowly, then buried her face in Max’s hair, who was still silently crying.

                “I’m sorry…”

                _You’re awful._

                **Shut up.**

“Want to lie down for a bit?” She asked softly, and upon receiving a small nod and a quiet “yeah,” she gathered up Max and carried her slowly over to the bed, laying her down on her side and then climbing in after her. After making sure Weed Dog was contentedly curled on the couch and flicking the lights off, Chloe placed an arm over her shoulders, and slowly, she could feel Max unwinding, her breathing deeper and more even. She wished she could sleep, too, but insomnia is a bitch. Lying there awake in the darkness, listening to the rain drum on the roof, she rhythmically patted Max’s shoulders, alone with her thoughts.

                _You still blame her. This seed of unhappiness will germinate, and it will grow, spreading its roots into your every nerve and cell until you can’t look at her anymore. This is doomed. Give up._

**I will not let anyone stop this, including myself.**

**I…. I need help.**

**We can get through this.**

**A new life waits, and you are not going to fuck this up, Chloe.**

**The mountains say, the mountains say.**


	4. Early Morning Windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max wakes up and decides to write.  
> For some reason.  
> That girl is insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Romance coming soon to a fanfic near you!

        Max woke, staring at the dust motes floating in the air above her head. She was vaguely aware of a weight on her abdomen, and upon looking down, she saw the familiar purple-blue hair of her beloved punk, who was using her stomach as a pillow. Slowly twirling Chloe's hair in her fingers, she smiled softly, knowing that her insomnia must have kept her awake for far longer than Max had. Chloe seemed much younger, happy, and very innocent, like a completely different person. She silently reminded herself to try to help her with her insomnia.

        Reaching over to the nightstand, she grabbed he trusty bag, scrounging out her jornal and flipping it open over Price's head. After a second of consideration, she clicked open a pen, carefully writing in the book.

_October 14th._

_Last night broke me and healed me more than I can imagine. It might only be apologies and breakdowns, but it is a step in the right direction, or so I hope. It was raining outside, which was ironic and madethe situation even more gloomy. I bet when we look back on this, we'd laugh and pass it off as "lame teen angst." Pretty lame, sure, but it was important, at least to me._

_Chloe was so supportive. Ever since we rolled out of Arcadia Bay, it felt like I was always drowning in doubt. Even the moments with Chloe felt like brief stops in the ocean of regret. There I go again, getting emotional and dramatic. It's how I feel, but really, it's not quite so flowery._

_These past days, I was really a soggy blanket, huh. The doubts were always there, some cold, roiling dread hovering over our heads, whispering into our ears that there could have been something I could have done to create a happier outcome. I bet there could have been a way. Evacuation, perhaps? But in that moment, I couldn't think. I'm a mass murderer with blood on my hands._

_Should I try to rewind? I no longer have the butterfly picture, so I doubt it, but there were many other pictures I took of Blackwell and Arcadia Bay before. I could try, but what if it doesn't work, and I'm left with no chloe again? I don't even want to try to rewind time now, for fear of bringing doom upon some poor town's heads, then leaving them to sort out their dead. Just like I did with Arcadia Bay, but I can't live my life scared that I'll accidentally unleash some storm upon a town. Perhaps go to the Mojave Desert?_

_This has hurt Chloe a lot, too, I can tell, but she hides it. I saw her yesterday staring at her phone after Mom and Dad called. Joyce... I saw her, I talked to her. She was - is. She is alive. I can't imagine having to go through losing the person you love most, not that she didn't clearly love Chloe, of course, but the only one you truly ever loved without rhyme or reason - gone, and it was, in some tiny part, your fault. Then, you have your child, who starts doing worse and worse in school, and after you find someone you think can help, who's deeply loyal and only wants the best for his new family, your child hates him. Single-handedly trying to hold together a shattered family._

_I never really had any other friends when I was young, and I doubt she had any, neither. It's not that we were lonely and antisocial, but we fitted together so well, we didn't need anyone else. Max and Chloe. Chloe and Max._

_I could never sacrifice Chloe._

        Max shut the journal with a final-sounding _bff,_ and she carefully set it back on the nightstand, on top of her bag. Her arms ached from holding a book and writing in midair, and she rolled them in their sockets, wincing. Glancing at the clock on the wall, both equally battered, she decided to go out and hunt for some food.

          Facing the same problem Chloe had just twenty four hours ago, Max employed a similar tactic to get out of bed. A little scootch here, another scootch there. After she was freed, she fluffed up a pillow and cushioned the sleeping girl's head with it. Grabbing her essentials and some money from Cthe back pocket of Chloe's ripped jeans, she pushed her way out of the motel room, squinting at the morning sun. Max found herself smiling for no reason, and with a shrug, she started walking.


	5. Morning - October 14th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe has a little panic attack. SuperMax to the rescue.  
> Also, Seattle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, busy days.

                _A soft, orange glow shone through closed lids, prompting Chloe to open them. She did so, and she had a feeling of getting up from a lying position, although her eyes told her she was sitting upright, in a car. She took a look around, the scene familiar. Painfully familiar. The car scene, of which had haunted her nightmares for years. She thought it had ended after she almost drove off a cliff back a couple of years ago. Apparently, it had come back to haunt her. She knew what was going to happen, and she waited for her father to speak._

_He didn’t. They drove in silence, a muffled, strange silence. As her nerves ticked up along with the time, she began to look around the car more. Empty. Everything was blank, as if the car had just come out of the factory, not a stain or scuff in sight. Looking wildly about, Chloe noticed something new. A head in the shotgun position, hidden by the seat. Her nerves chilled, and hesitantly, she leaned over to peek at the person’s face._

_As soon as her eyes made contact with the side of the person’s face, they snapped their head around to stare directly at Chloe. Her heart jumped violently, and she reeled back, uttering a strangled, horrified gasp. It was… Joyce, but her face was horrifically burnt, the features browned, mashed together and sloughing like some child’s play-dough creation. Her jaw gaped impossibly wide, the mandible surely snapped.  The rest of her body was broken, torn, and bruised, blood oozing from cuts and holes frozen, as if she was caught in a moment. Chloe retreated, hating the head that cracked on its neck to keep looking at her._

_Another pair of eyes trained on her, this time from William, whose body was mangled, broken, the bones showing in multiple areas, torn skin and broken neck shocking Chloe into silence. Both of their jaws gaped wide, gurgling hissing emanating from their throats._

                “ _Chloe….”_

                “STOP!”

                Chloe Price bolted awake screaming, cold sweat already cooling on her brow. Breathing heavily, she looked around, eyes darting and mind churning to try to forget the terrifying scene her mind had cooked up and to discern where the fuck she was.  A dog barked near her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin before realizing that it was just Pompidou, scared awake by her yelling.

                After a minute or so of panicked head-swiveling, she had enough control to tell herself to calm down. Take a deep breath or two. Three. Four. Where was she? Right. The sad motel she and Max found which didn’t care enough to ID them or ask if they were minors or not, just accepted the cash and handed over a key. When was it? If Chloe was judging by the sun (because the clock was broken), mid-morning. Everything checked out, so why did she feel nervous?           

                Another sweep of the room and some concentrating gave her the bone-chilling answer.

                “M-Max?” She called out, her voice trembling.

                No answer.

                Her heart kicked up into overdrive again, and she got up from the bed, bare feet scratched by the coarse, dirty carpet. She didn’t care about how many disgusting germs were now on her soles. She cared about finding Max. The weed dog trotted alongside her, scratching himself leisurely, not bothered at all by the missing person. Chloe used a hand to pat Pompidou roughly in her anxiousness.

                “Max?” Chloe called again, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. When it became obvious after she searched the bathrooms and the closet that Maxine wasn’t in the room, she turned to clues around the room, her heart racing.

               No camera, no bag on the nightstand. Her jacket was gone from the chair, too. The key – Chloe patted her pockets, then searched through her own jacket’s pockets. No key there, so it must have been with Max. She left before Price woke up… but why?

                As she was looking through her pockets, she found her phone. Yes! Use that to call her! She tapped frantically on the screen, then pressed her ear to the phone. With every dial ring, her heart dropped further, and when it turned to voicemail, Chloe nearly threw it across the room. Listening to Max’s voice telling her to leave a message after the beep, she closed her eyes tight and turned off her phone.

_Where are you, Max?_

As if beckoned by her call, the door clinked with the sound of someone placing a key into the doorknob and unlocking the door. Chloe stood up, her blood rushing through her ears as the milliseconds dragged on.

                The doorknob, turning.

                The door, creaking as it was pushed forward, into the room.

                That glorious mop of straight, boring brown hair and the freckled face coming into view.

                No sooner had Max placed one foot inside the motel room had Chloe rushed forward, and shoving the door open wide, she  grabbed Max’s face and pulled it towards hers as she angled her head downwards, their lips meeting and their faces locking together perfectly.

                Chloe was dully aware of several bags falling from Max’s fingers onto the floor, but she didn’t pay it any mind as she kissed the fuck out of her Max. It was a “thank god I have you” kiss, an “I love you so hella much” kiss, an “I don’t deserve you but I will always love you” kiss.

                _Perfect._

“Chloe!” Max exclaimed when she finally broke the kiss. “I didn’t know you missed me that much, I was only out for half an hour!”

                “That’s half an hour more than I can survive without you,” Chloe replied, smiling toothily and whistling as she marched once around the room to shake off her elatedness. Max chuckled, then raised an eyebrow quizzically.

                “Who are you and what have you done to my Chloe? The one I know would never whistle. Give her back.” Chloe merely bared her teeth and winked, then swung an arm around her (girl)friend and looped them both onto the bed, laughing and kissing each other. After a few minutes of cuddling, in the end of which they settled down into just hugging and occasional pecks on the forehead.

                “If you’re hungry, breakfast is now on the floor,” Max commented, to the suddenly horrified Chloe. The blue-haired girl sat up suddenly, staring at the bags on the floor. Now that her fears of being alone were assuaged, the next worst thing on her list to tackle was her growing hunger…

                “Ah.”

 

                An hour later, they were back on the road, nearing the huge city of Seattle, its tallest building and the Space Needle waving a huge flag saying “We’re important; look at us.” From miles away, they could see the shroud of smog, cut through by the nearing noon light. As they got closer, passing by first dilapidated warehouses and small car dealers with flags waving in the wind atop barbed wire fences ten feet tall, then more elegant, better kept houses, Max’s face became noticeably lighter, and she began drumming her feet on the truck floor. Infected by her anticipation, Chloe began looking forward to this trip. Following Max’s directions very carefully, Chloe only got them both lost about five times before finally pulling up in front of a very nice five-story apartment building. She parked disastrously, putting several dents in hers and someone else’s car, before a facepalming Max nearly slapped her and pointed to the parking lot set in the side for residents.

                Chloe slammed the car door after her, pulling down her beanie over her hair. She joined Max and Pompidou, who had insisted (in his adorable way) on sitting between Chloe and Max during the trip. They stood at the door, which glided open in front of them, and walked in, noting the quietness of the apartment. It must’ve been because every adult in this complex had gone to work hours ago, leaving the grey-haired receptionist alone to stare at her phone.

                At the clicking of their heels, though, the receptionist lady (Ms. Sprouss, by her nametag) looked up through old fashioned ounce nez glasses, a moment of blankness erased by recognition. She leaned forward, her back straightened, and beamed at Max.

                “Maaaax! How great to see you again! I’ve missed you, but it doesn’t seem to be winter break yet. What brings you home so early? Who’s this young lady?” Chloe disliked her sickly sweet coddling voice instantly, turning away to stare at a “Smoke-free zone” sign in distaste while Max was forced to converse with the woman, who seemed to want to know everything and occasionally made clucks of her tongue. Her very presence was like a motherly cloud, always hanging over everyone’s heads, ready to rain affection, even when it is unwanted. Especially when it is unwanted.

                After a few awkward minutes of conversing, Ms. Sprouss finally stopped talking about the weather and how sorry she was for the loss of Blackwell, which Chloe had successfully tuned out by entertaining herself with trying to convince Pompidou to go to the bathroom in one of the potted plants. She then turned to the blue-haired girl, and cleared her throat, adopting what she had probably hoped was a professional tone.

                “Miss Chloe Price, Max here says that you’ll be staying with her family for a stretch of time. I’ll need you to sign these forms, and also ask Mr. Caulfield for the apartment room roster so that he can confirm your stay. We do not allow any smoking in any of the rooms. We do allow pets, but please, next time, refrain from trying to get it to pee in the peace lilies.” Chloe’s eyebrows drew together. This woman had ears like a bat. She watched Ms. Sprouss rummage through the messy desk to fish out a pen for her to use, but she was already finishing her wild signature on the last of the papers, paying no mind to lines, her marker bleeding through the paper. With a click, she capped the foul-smelling black sharpie.

                “Anything else?”

                The receptionist stopped and blinked a few times. Clearly, she usually served polite people like the Caulfields. _Well, wake up and smell the carcass, Sprouss. Chloe’s here to stay._

                “…yes. Usually, we would give you a key, but all copies of the room have been taken. You can copy a key down at the CVS. Have a nice stay.” She sat back down behind the desk, and Max and Chloe walked to the elevators, dog claws clicking behind them, glad to have passed that obstacle.

                The elevator hummed along happily, carrying its cargo up three stories before stopping. That moment before the ding sounded and the doors slid open was the most terrifying moment for Chloe, that split second where the doors could fail and they’d be trapped in here, suspended thirty feet above the ground in a metal box of death.

                But not today. The steel doors slid open, and a pleasant _ding_ sounded as they stepped out onto the carpet, the narrow hallway ending in two doors on either side, west and east. Max led the way as Chloe lagged behind, subconsciously smoothing her hair back and tugging the sleeves of her brown jacket over her tattoo. Last time she’d seen the Caulfields, she’d been an innocent fourteen year old. It would be a shock to see her now. Perhaps picking up on her thoughts, Max turned to face her as she held a hand aloft to press the doorbell of the east door, marked 302.

                “Try not to scare them too much, okay? You’ve… changed a lot, to say the least.”

                Chloe smiled softly, and nodded, clasping her hands behind her back. She was surprised to find them warm, probably from nerves. Nerves? Why was she nervous? The Caulfields were practically family…

                Max pressed the button.

 


	6. Sunless in Seattle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maxtime again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've slogged through tons of Seattle rain jokes. Tell me, are there many iso-BARS around there that I can DROWN my sorrows in? 
> 
> Please help

It was quiet in the apartment, very, very quiet, apart from the gentle pitter of a light shower on the windows. Good weather. Her parents were out working, and Chloe, complaining of being cooped up in the house (though in much more colorful terms), had just left to take Pompidou for a walk, deaf to Max's comments on the weather. Stubborn one, that.

Max glanced towards the marble kitchen counter as she passed through its doorway. Usually, whenever Chloe walked the dog, the pickup baggies stayed there, so Pompidou would just relieve himself all over the city. Yet today, they were gone from their usual niche. She exhaled through her nose slowly, smiling softly at the thought of the hardened punk trying to get herself to pick up mutt poo.

She then glanced at the clock, noting that it would probably take fifteen minutes or more for her to come back, probably with a new city story. Yesterday it was about a pedestrian that had an actual eyepatch, and the day before, it was her remarking about some street musicians that had, to quote, "hella rocked." Cliche suburban girl in the city, almost.

Wanting to take advantage of the lull, quiet time, she went to her room and sat down at her desk, moving away a pile of Chloe's shed clothes to do so. Max dug out her journal, and after clicking on a desk light, began a fresh entry.

_October 16th._

_It's been a very busy few days past. We arrived in Seattle, which seemed like another planet after the quiet Arcadia Bay. It's taken... Some adjusting, to say the least. I'm glad to say that everyone is settling in very well._

_When mom and dad first saw Chloe, they did not recognize her at all. Here was this blue haired, tattooed, tall woman looking like she just came out of an all night bar standing next to their child. Even after the introductions and "no, really"'s, they still had doubts. It took a while for them to realize that she's changed a lot. Heck, it was a shock for me, and I've known her for many, many years._

_They did try to act normal around Chloe,but they were intimidated, and they wanted to help, but always hesitated. It didn't help that every time mom and dad tried to discuss touchy subjects, she always cut them off and suggested they talk about something else, or forcibly changed the subject. They always dropped it, but I feel like they should press it some more. Chloe wouldn't be happy at their attention, but reaching out would be beneficial._

_A few more news sites and papers ran articles on the strange storm that should have been able to swell and easily turn into a hurricane - tornado (Hurricnado?) to wreck the U.S, but had "stopped right after bringing disaster to the small, quiet town of Arcadia Bay, as if the storm had a mind and a mission." Rescue workers have been picking through the rubble. No updates on the lists of the dead yet._

_Chloe still hasn't called David, or Joyce. I'm almost certain that David is alive, but he may know the harsh truth about Joyce, and he'll have to tell her. For the sake of his own sanity, I think that's the reason why he hasn't attempted to contact Chloe on his end, either. Perhaps he thinks that she too, is dead, and doesn't want her phone to ring until it's cut off. Poor David. He really only wanted to help, but he was so brute in his ways, no one really recognized how he cared._

_I really don't want to make Chloe mad, but I think I should try to convince her to call David. The real question is, is better to stay in the dark, ignorant and unharmed by truths, or to see everything for the stark shithole it really is?_

The door opened, and the clomping of boots and clicking of claws preceding Chloe's war cry.

"I'm baaack!" Pompidou barked to puncuate the bellow.

"Got it!" Max called back, closing her journal with her pen between its pages, standing up and stepping over piles of clothing to stick her head out into the hallway connecting to the front door. Chloe brought the smell of cigarette smoke and wet dog along with her, as well as a damp jacket that she tossed onto a chair. The toothy shark grin on her face infected Max, who stepped out in the hallway completely to walk up to Chloe.

"You'll never guess what I saw today..."


	7. Night-Oct. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe makes a phone call. In the middle of the night. You know where this is going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Painful stuff here, but more painful stuff coming soon! Haha I need help

            The lack of stars made her uneasy. Chloe used to stare at them from on her roof for hours, letting the night slip by as she laid on the rough shingles and stared at the pinpricks, whispering the names to herself or just looking around and letting the vastness of the sky envelop her. But here, the sky was gray, light even in dark. The ubiquitous rain had ceased for an hour or so, and Chloe had stood at the window, waiting for the familiar constellations, but there had been none.

           A soft rustling told her that Max was shifting in her bed, and Chloe looked back to make sure she was still sleeping. Max was already worried about her insomnia, it was clear, and her slew of other problems, besides, but Chloe wasn’t quite ready to let her try to help yet. She wasn’t ready for the sympathetic looks when she couldn’t do something or get something right. Clad in some of Vanessa’s clothes, Chloe turned back to the window, hearing a car horn sound.

           The streetlights were bright, as well as the 99 cent store across the street and the laundromat. Isolated people walked around, hurrying from somewhere to somewhere. No doubt they were clenching keys in their hand, ready to attack any mugger that should spring out of the alleyways.

           Someone placed a hand on her shoulder and a warm body pressed into her side. Chloe turned her head sideways to smile at Max, hugging the smaller girl to her and hiding the small surprise she received from Max’s unannounced arrival.

           “I thought you were asleep,” she murmured, placing a light kiss on her forehead. Max shook her head, rubbing some sleep goobers out of her eyes, and leaned her head on Chloe’s shoulder.

           “I couldn’t sleep until you did.” That touched Chloe’s stone-cold heart, and she smiled, something that she had been doing more and more these past weeks. The two fell into the heavy silence again, looking outside into the dim grey with a mounting awkwardness.

Max coughed.

“Chloe… I have to talk to you about something.” Chloe’s heart sank, because she knew what was coming, and it made her uncomfortable. It was like having someone pry back your skin and examine all the gritty little clods of dirt on your soul, tut-tutting all the while and shaking their head. She wanted to get out of this room before she was placed on the table.

“I know you won’t like this, but…” Max took a breath, then continued, words getting softer as she spoke.

“Please don’t take this as a pressuring or forceful thing, but I want to suggest to you to try to call David. David Madson.”

“I know what my stepfather’s name is, Max,” she snarled, eyebrows drawn low and frustrated. Both of them were taken aback by the ferocity in her voice. Chloe took a slow inhale, then leaned forward, forearms on the dusty windowsill.

“...sorry. I guess I’m being an asshole again when you’re trying to help. It seems to be a habit of mine.”

Max imitated her movement, so that they were side by side, relatively head-height.

“It’s fine. I understand.”

_You don’t. Not completely. And that’s good. I hope you never have to truly understand me, to be in my shoes._

“But Chloe… Isn’t it better to know than to live your life in doubt? Even with your recent perkiness, I’ve seen you moping around the house. City blues, maybe, but I don’t believe that you could have just forgotten and left it behind. And you shouldn’t. I suppose, all I’m trying to say is… If it were me, I’d like to know. Even if it hurt.”

Chloe stared at a single point on the horizon, trying to appear casual. Her jaw, she realized, was clenched tightly, and her eyes smarted. Keeping an unreadable facade, she tried to mull it over logically, but her mind just could not deviate from ‘No, no, no, no, no.’

She realized that it had been several minutes since Max last spoke. The stream of negatives in her mind was drowning out even her best friend, and something more than friends. Max was merely trying to help. The girl’s been through much more than she has, Chloe realized with a guilty feeling of crushing selfishness. **At least give her this.**

She looked down, blue hair falling over her eyes.

“Get me my phone.”

 

They sat on the edge of the bed, huddled up together in Max’s sheets as the glow of the screen illuminated their faces. Like an elder with arthritis, Chloe’s fingers inched around on the screen, prodding and pressing until she finally had the stark blank page of Madsen’s contact information on her screen. Her first move was to change the contact name from “Stepfucker” to “David Madsen.” A small step, but big in her mind. With the pressure of Max’s arm around her, like a safety harness, she poked the “Call” button and held it up to her ear, the ringing deafening in the silence, but almost drowned out by her heartbeat, fighting inside her chest.

Nothing.

“Try again, it’s 2 in the morning, perhaps he’s asleep.” _Or he’s dead._ Chloe did not share this nasty bit of thought with Max, and she tried the call again.

This time, there were only two rings until someone at the other end picked up, the feedback pronounced and the audio fuzzy and indistinct.

“Hello? Chloe?”

Fighting over her initial recoil response at David’s voice, Chloe got over the lump in her throat and croaked out a phrase.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Thank god! Where are you? I’ve been looking for days, I’ve called you - Why haven’t you picked up before now?” Chloe’s anger rose, and she opened her mouth angrily to give this stepdouche a part of her mind, but a sharp nudge from her peacekeeper by her side made her stop and pause, playing a little game of “What would sane Chloe do?”

“David. It’s not important; I’m alive, not that you cared.” Another reminder. “I mean, I - um, nothing. Good to know you’re okay.”

“Chloe? You seem awfully… nice today. Is there something I need to know?”

“No, but there is something _I_ need to know.” The blood rushed in her ears.

“I-is Mom okay?”

A heartbeat.

The awful static that followed told her everything. A cry wrenched itself out of her throat, and she collapsed forward, dropping the thin slab of cold, unfeeling metal to the floor.

Joyce was gone, the only person who had loved her enough to put up with her and her sheer assholiness for nearly 2 decades. God, no. No. She’ll never hug her again, never laugh, never warm a room with her smile, never reprimand the creeps at her counter in her smart way, never pause Chloe on her way out the door to not say anything, but merely touch her wrist and look at her with a tired, knowing eye again.

Gone.

She was an orphan.

The only family she had was step-David.

She knew it wasn’t fair to blame Max, but in that moment, she hated her. With a shuddering breath, she pulled herself away from her anchor, wanting to be left alone to drift in the cold dark of her numb limbs, waiting to be burned by the freezing pain of loss.

She curled up in the fetal position, shielding herself from everything, grinding her teeth and hoping for anything to dull the emptiness as tears leaked from her eyes to fall silently onto the bedspread. She was dimly aware of Max picking up the phone, and suddenly had a rush of doubt, seeing her face shrouded in cold light as she held Chloe’s phone up to her ear. Madsen mumbled through the static, and after a second, or maybe it was an hour, lowered the phone again.

Max touched her back, but Chloe threw her off, hostile. She wanted Max to press the matter, to care, but in the same breath, she wanted her to fuck off and die, or just rewind and let Nathan fucking Prescott kill her to save Joyce. Joyce deserved to live. And what did Chloe do? Smoked, drank, set fire to her insides just for fun. She should never have allowed any time to be seperated from her mother. Just one more. One more hug. One more kiss. One more day.

Consumed by the pain, Chloe drifted into a numb sleep, her body shutting down to save her mind.


	8. The Fire is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max does some summarizing and heart-pouring. Chloe is... cold, to say the least.

Max stared out the window, the teardrops made by the rain streaking across the windowpane. Her fingers idly picked at the thin strings of her guitar, trying to lose herself in the chords and notes. Her eyes drifted shut, letting the melancholy tune play itself. _E minor. B 7th. C, G, F sharp._ She reached the vocal part, and softly, after a short cough, she murmured the lyrics.

Then a quiet new voice joined hers after the first stanza, rougher, singing along in a raw voice for the chorus. Max looked up, seeing her Chloe standing in the doorway, leaning against the side with a leg jutting out in the stereotypical “teen leaning against doorway” pose, looking down at her crossed arms, refusing to make eye contact with Max. She clearly gave off the “not now” vibe, so Max kept playing, their voices joining and complementing each other.

_"So we lay in the dark,_  
_We've got nothing to say_  
 _Just the beating of hearts,_  
 _Like two drums in the grey_  
 _I don't know what we're doing_  
 _I don't know what we've done_  
 _But the fire is coming_  
 _So I think we should run..."_

After four minutes of music, the last chord struck, and their voices faded. As soon as Max lifted her head from that note, all she caught was a boot heel, disappearing out of sight, and the sharp click of the front door lock. She knew it was useless to chase Chloe. She’d only get a cold shoulder or a short phrase: “Go away.”

It hurt.

 

_October 22nd._

_How to start? Things have been painful. Too hard to put down on paper, but I’ll try._

_Joyce is dead._

_Warren is dead._

_Frank is dead._

_800 people are dead or injured, out of around a thousand. Wives. Husbands. Children with hopes and dreams, all gone now._

_And it’s because of me._

_On top of all of that, I’m going back to high school to finish senior year in November. I guess having the weight of 800 dead souls on your conscience isn’t enough to stave away the education system of Seattle._

_Mom and dad tell me not to worry, that it wasn’t anybody’s fault. I still haven’t told them, I don’t think I ever can. They’re not like Chloe. They wouldn’t understand, and besides, I don’t want to try it again here to show them. What if I bring the storm to Seattle? Many more lives are at stake here, in this big city. As painful as losing Arcadia Bay was, it was still only a small town._

_I sound callous. I’m not counting lives here, I really don’t want to. Every one of them is important to someone, somewhere. With one moment, I destroyed them._

_Chloe isn’t talking. I don’t blame her -- I would feel the same if my mother had died because of someone I loved. It’s just… It’s tough at times. I want to beg for forgiveness, but I can’t. She’ll erupt like St. Helens, and I don’t want her to be mad at me. I want her to - I don’t know. I guess I just want to… explain myself? No, I have no explanation._

_She looks at me sometimes. Her eyes have dulled, and she has been getting red circles and black shadows under her eyes. I really thought she could come clean here, but apparently not. I’m worried about her contacts. No more Frank here, there are cutthroats out there who will kill. Chloe’s tough, but not that tough. All I can hope for when she goes out is that she has David’s gun loaded and ready. It’s terrible, but there’s nothing I can do. I have followed her, but every time I do, she gets angry or disappointed. The latter is so much worse. I can’t help her if she doesn’t trust me._

_That’s a shitty excuse I’ve made for a caring friend. Friend? Girlfriend. I don’t even know anymore…_

_I can’t keep watching her slowly dig a grave for herself. When it gets deep enough, either she’ll jump in herself, or someone will push her. I’m going to do something about it. I don’t want to see her fall._

_I don’t want to watch her hit the ground._

 

Max stood from her desk, closing her journal with a thump. Her back straightened with muted clicks, and she walked into the single bathroom. Her reflection greeted her, with black smudges under her eyes, thin, tired lips, and mussed-up hair. She was wearing the same thing she had wore for the past 3 days - a tee, and soft flannel pyjama pants. It was comforting.

She pushed aside the four toothbrushes in a cup to wash her face, hoping she’d be less tired. It didn’t work. Trudging back into the shared room, she observed how full it was, and how empty, too. A Chloe-shaped dent on the bed made her chest ache. She loved that girl, but it was hard.

Max wouldn’t stop trying, though. She never would.


	9. Night - Oct. 24th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, some good old action. Chloe slips out for a drug deal, but she is being followed. The trade quickly turns sour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell I don't pay attention to what's being typed out on the page because of the horrid grammatical errors everywhere.

Chloe couldn’t sleep.

Not like she had been able to before, but at least then, she had gotten used to it, and it hadn’t been caused by the death that seemed to follow her like a malignant shadow. First William. Rachel. Joyce. Who was going to be next? Max?

A thought flashed in her head, and she immediately hated herself. She didn’t want to wish Max an early death. Why had she done that?

_Perhaps because she’d caused this disaster…_

No. She needed to stop blaming. It was because of her that Max sacrificed the small town. It should have brought a warm feeling to her, but she was numb. She didn’t want to live if that was the cost.

Chloe silently sat the dinner table, hands limp in her lap, in the dark of the unlit apartment. It was night outside, probably around ten or eleven. She’d missed dinner while roaming the streets, again. This was the third time in a row. The first time, Mrs. Caulfield had been silently disapproving, but she hadn’t said anything, only softly offered some leftovers once Chloe had dragged her sorry ass home. The second time, food had been left out for her, like she was some sort of stray cat. She hadn’t touched the food.

Everyone else was asleep, rumbling snoring coming from the parents’ room. Max’s door was slightly ajar, spilling some moonlight from the crack onto the hallway floor. As quietly as she could, the blue-haired teen got up and slipped out the door, leaving the door to lock behind her. Chloe didn't have her key. She almost wanted a reason to hate herself later.

Taking the stairs down to the brightly lit lobby, she was relieved to see no one at the reception counter. Chloe was not in the mood to put up with the cloying sweetness exuded by that lady. As soon as she was out the door, hearing the night lock turn behind her, she shook out a cigarette from her pocket and lit it, inhaling the toxic chemicals deep into her lungs, her hand replacing the box, then going to her back pocket. Good. The steel was no longer cold against her back, and if needed, she could get to it quickly.

She should get going. She had an appointment she needed to keep.

 

An alley. This was too cliche. And a flickering streetlight too? Wow. This place could’ve been the set of 90% of the horror movies out there. Chloe relaxed against a wall, but her ears were perked under her beanie. Her contact should be here already, she was surely late after wandering around the city.

“Late again, Smaug.”

“This is a hell of a place. Aslo, I told you not to call me that, Richard,” Chloe replied dryly, getting off the wall and turning to face the figure standing further inside the alley. The man was at least 2 inches taller than she was, covered in tattoos. His face lit up when he inhaled on a cigarette clamped between his lips, the burnt end glinting off the piercings in his nose and eyebrow. He laughed at her reply, waggling a finger and spitting a loogie out of the side of his mouth.

“We ain’t on first name basis yet, Smaug. Besides, you tried to bite my face off when we first met, so I get to call you whatever I want.” Chloe highly doubted Richard had ever read The Hobbit, or anything else other than gun magazines, playboy magazines, or money, for that matter.

“Enough. You’ve got it?” She asked, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at the dealer with something barely less than a death stare.

“Excited, aren’t we?” He caught Chloe’s glare, and laughed lowly, patting his jacket pocket. “I’ve got it. The question is, have you got the green stuff?”

Chloe patted her jeans pocket, then issued a sarcastic reply. “No. I came here with no money to buy drugs. Of course I’ve got it, Rich, and before you ask, all of it.”

“I won’t ask where the money came from, but rest assured, if a warrant is out for a blue-haired asshole for theft and robbery, then no information is coming out of me.”

Chloe snorted, drawing out a ziploc of twenties. “Cut the bullshit. I know as soon as they offer monetary reward, your promises are worth shit in the hole. The goods?”

Richard drew out a baggie of marijuana, holding another hand out for the money. Chloe extended a hand with the money, expecting him to hand it over, but his hand wasn’t moving. She looked up and saw Rich’s face creasing into a hard snarl, his eyes fixed on a point beyond her shoulder, the weed withdrawing quickly and his other hand snaking underneath his jacket.

“A mole! You’ve brought the police here onto me!” Chloe straightened,turning to see what Richard was staring and pointing a sleek black handgun at.

Max, with a tee and rumpled jeans, looking scared and petrified,standing half behind a wall of the other end of the alley. Chloe cursed, and backed up, her own hand twitching to get at her own gun.

“Calm down, man, I didn’t bring this ragtag girl here. I don’t even know her!”

Richard growled, swinging his arm so that Chloe was staring into the barrel.

“Lies, lies. Don’t think that I don’t know that you filthy police scum have been tailing me for a while now. Thought you could catch me using little girls? I’ll show them I’m not to be trifled with!”

Chloe saw the flickering streetlight cast a ray onto the black metal as he lifted his arm, eyes flashing, and his finger tense on the trigger. Before he could pull, she was already in motion, hand curled around the gun in her waistband and body down, hurtling towards his torso.

 _This will_ _not_ _be a repeat of Rachel._

The gun flashed,and a roar echoed around her ears. Chloe could only hope that she had startled him enough to let the shot go wide, then she impacted with his body, bringing them both down. They were flat on the ground, and in a brief frantic tussle, they both had their guns ready.

Richard didn’t hesitate to fire at Chloe, who was still pinning him, and she heard another bang and then a searing pain in her left shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she drew back the hammer of her pistol and, pointing it at Richard’s head as he fired off another shot. She couldn’t tell if he had hit anything, but she already had the barrel of her gun pressed squarely against his forehead. Richard wasn’t moving, but his eyes were darting around, trying to find an exit.

“You move, and I’ll add another soul onto my collection. Drop the gun.”

A clatter sounded that told her he had obeyed. She noticed a drip of dark liquid onto Richard’s face, and realized it was her own. Oh, well. That’ll start to hurt after the adrenaline wears off.

“Max.” Her mind went back to the person she was protecting. A small whimper behind her was her only answer. Chloe’s heart jerked, wanting to go over and inspect every inch of Max to make sure she wasn’t hurt, but the priority was keeping this man under her control.

“Call the police.” She didn’t get to see if Max had followed her instructions, but soon, she heard her talking in a very shaky voice. The punk stared long and hard into the dealer’s eyes, which were looking shiftier by the second. If she didn’t do something, he’d make a break for it. Quickly shifting her barrel to the right, she fired, leaving him with half an ear missing, at least. Richard howled in pain, but quickly silenced himself when the pistol was pressed back between his eyes. Using his brief moment of pain, Chloe kicked his gun further away from him.

“You’re no goody two-shoes… Let me go before the police arrive, and I’ll hook you up with anything. Money,drugs…” His voice cut off abruptly when Chloe slapped him with her free hand, then jammed the hand around his neck, pressing both hand and gun harder downward.

“You tried to kill someone I love. Consider me merciful, you sleazy fuckwad.”

Two minutes seem a lot longer when you’ve got a dangerous, murderous drug dealer to keep under control, but soon, she could hear the sirens wailing and the blue and red wash over the alley. By then, the adrenaline had worn off and it was all Chloe had to keep herself from crying out or collapsing in pain. Pain would show weakness, and any sign of weakness was enough for him to prey off of. The car doors opened, regurgitating the sounds of walkie talkies, boot heels, and guns being pulled back and readied.

It was then that Chloe made a mistake.

She heard steps approaching, and with barely concealed relief, she turned around, dropping her sore arm from pointing the gun at Richard’s head, looking up at the approaching officer. Richard surged upward, knocking her to the ground and grabbing her gun. Before Chloe could react, there were two quick booming shots, one after the other, a searing pain in her left arm, and then silence.

Chloe struggled to her feet, blinking past black dots in her vision to see what had happened. Richard lay on the ground, limp, eyes rolled up into his skull, a gaping hole in the back of his head bleeding profusely onto the concrete, joining a puddle already on the ground. The police officer lowered his smoking gun and offered a hand to Chloe.

That was when she passed out.


	10. Future Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe is in the hospital. Max does some writing.

Chloe looked so fragile, so young, when she was hooked up to a machine that supplied oxygen to her, the mask fogging with every breath, bandages around her arm and shoulder stark white, making her pale skin look darker than it was. It was frightening to see her so… unguarded. Max sat beside her bed, clutching her right hand, staring at her face and wishing for some sign of life. Every so often, her eyelashes flickered, but she never raised her eyelids.

Max felt awful. Because of her blundering foolishness, Chloe had to take two bullets for her. Well, one full on in her shoulder, and a graze. That did not make it better. Her eyes flicked up the sterile white wall to the clock, mounted firmly on the wall. She’d been here for four hours already. Her mind was clouded with thoughts, and she couldn’t even talk to her parents, them having left an hour ago to sort out legal stuff. Not like she told them much these days. So she did what she usually did. Max pulled out her journal, switched hands so that she was holding Chloe’s hand in her left, and started writing.

_ October 25th. _

_ Holy fucking shit. I still can’t get over what happened last night. Back up. Let’s start from the beginning. _

_ I’m slowly piecing together what happened when I went back in time to save Chloe from Jefferson, and what changed and what didn’t. When we called David, he told us that Mark Jefferson had escaped the town jail before the police could get to him. There was a warrant out for his arrest, but the police ‘couldn’t convict him of murder’ yet. I wanted to tell Chloe, but I didn’t know if it was a good idea. Knowing her, she’d set out in that rusty dump of a truck and single-handedly track him down and kill him. He’s dangerous. _

_ I’m not sure that if I was offered the chance to go back and let David kill Jefferson, that I’d stop him. That scares me. _

_ When Chloe started staying out later and later, I thought she’d found out about Mark, and was out to try to find him herself. I got worried. I followed her out one night, and it turns out she wasn’t going on a vigilante hunt for Jefferson, just for drugs. It didn’t make me feel much better. _

_ Me, being stupid, accidentally showed myself to the dealer. He pulled out a gun and was yelling his paranoid head off, despite Chloe trying to calm him down. He aimed at me, and I was too scared to move. Chloe saved me. She tackled that man like a linebacker, even though she got shot. She had David’s gun on her, and she managed to hold him down until I got over my scare and managed to call the police.  _

_ When they got here, they shoved me behind a car. I still tried to look. I saw Chloe turning around before the officer got to handcuffing the dealer. He knocked her down, took her gun, and fired off a shot, which is the one that grazed her arm. The officer reacted quickly, though, and he was shot dead. Chloe fainted from blood loss and the stress, and they rushed her to the hospital. They removed the bullet from her shoulder, patched her up, and plonked her in a bed. She still hasn’t woken up yet. It’s been seven hours. _

_ There you go. The gory, grimy details of last night.  _

_ The police still haven’t gotten back to us with the details of exactly who he was, but they did promise reward for Chloe. Hella right, she took down a drug dealer single-handedly, you better at least reward her punk ass!  _

_ I love her. _

_ I’m worried that she won’t wake up, even though the docs assure me she’ll be okay. She might not have full use of her left shoulder anymore, but they say it’ll be minor. I don’t think they know she’s left-handed. They also talk about physical therapy. I don’t think Chloe’ll react well to anything with the word “therapy” in it.  _

_ I just hope that I can help her after she wakes. She needs someone to support her, even if she acts tough and independent. We all need another person from time to time. _

_ I also wish that the police could hurry up and get Jefferson again. He’s more messed-up than anyone can ever understand. We need to find him before he targets anyone else, and stop him. We? I meant the law. _

_ Or did I? I have a very personal grudge towards him. _

“Always writing, Max. What do you so need to put down on paper?” The weak, raspy voice made Max jerk, and her hand involuntarily squeezed Chloe’s. Seeing the paler-than-usual face of her punk crease in pain, she hurriedly let go of her hand, but Chloe kept clutching it. Hesitant, Max slowly leaned forward, to not disturb Chloe’s position. Her eyes were pale blue, the same hue as her hair. They lacked the fire they usually held, and it scared Max.

“How’re you feeling?” 

Chloe laughed drily. “Like I just got shot twice. Because I did. How long have I been out?”

“Around 7 or 8 hours. They removed the shrapnel, said that you were going to be alright, and here I am.” Chloe glanced at the clock out of the corner of her eye, and using her right hand, tore off the oxygen mask. 

“Did they also say to hook me up on oxygen like an infant?” Chloe grumbled, but it was lacking her usual edge. She caught Max’s broad smile, and acted confused. “Did you win the lottery? What’s with the smiley face?”

Max hugged Chloe, taking care to avoid moving her IV or bandages. 

“Thank you.”


	11. Morning - Oct. 31st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe does some physical therapy for the bullet wound in her shoulder. She heals more with Max, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some low'n'lazy writing. Things will pick up again after a bit. Mainly with the arrival of you-know-who. Not Voldemort.

“Your next appointment is in two days. See you then, Chloe.” Chloe nodded to the therapist, Dr. Jennifer Miranti, letting the training bands hooked to the wall relax and letting go with sore hands and a worse back. The doctor scribbled the dates down on a pad, then ripped the top page off and handed it to her. Chloe tightened her shoulder brace around her arm and turned to leave, anxious to get out of this prison of equipment and expectations, but the doc’s voice stopped her.

“Chloe.” The punk turned, a flicker of annoyance clear in the way she held herself, but Dr. Miranti continued with her cool voice, looking at the younger woman from over her slim glasses. “I know this is hard for you. But really, I’m proud of the progress you’ve made. It’s hard to recover from wounds like this. Remember - You can do it.”

Chloe swallowed, rolling her left shoulder slightly as she took in the compliment, wary of the praise. Praise never came without strings. Perhaps there was a new development in the recuperation, another wall in her way.

“Thanks and all, Doc, but if there’s anything you need to say, say it now.”

Dr.Miranti looked up from her pad, a perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. “I’m sorry?”

“I know you’re avoiding something.”

Miranti looked closely at her for a moment, then chuckled softly. “Nothing from me, Chloe. It wouldn’t hurt to relax just a bit. It’s good for the body. Good day.”

Max was waiting for her in the truck, cuddling Pompidou. Upon her opening the door, the weed dog jumped out at Chloe, barking happily and trying to lick her face. Expecting this, she stepped back, leading the mutt around to the trunk, and with a quick pat on the head,  The older Caulfields hadn’t approved of the dingy, beat-up vehicle, but since the family had two cars between them, and both Caulfields used them almost every day, they’d grudgingly agreed to let the monstrosity be driven. 

“So, whadidya do when I was being tortured in the dungeon?” Chloe joked, leaning back in the shotgun seat and kicking up her boots. Max glanced over and casually brushed her feet off the dashboard. 

“Don’t be so dramatic. We just played fetch a bit. Oh, by the way, have you been training him to, ah, relieve himself in potted plants?”

Chloe gulped. “Uh, maybe?” 

Max fixed her with an amused glare once they reached a stoplight. “One of these days, Ms. Sprouss is going to throw us out.”

Chloe snickered. “Miss Sprouts can’t make me move from you. Nothing can.”

When the horns honked behind their immobile car once the light turned green, Chloe only had time to roll down the window to stick a middle finger out the truck to tell the drivers behind them to piss off. She was too busy kissing her Max.

 

A couple of minutes later, they tumbled out of the truck, smiling and laughing. They passed Ms. Sprouss without much trouble, Max giving Chloe a quiet wink as they passed the garish potted plant in the lobby. Unlocking the door and shouldering it open, they spilled into the living room, where Chloe immediately flopped onto a couch and closed her eyes.

“Have you got the radio up and working again?” She asked, grabbing a jacket from off the back of the couch and draping it over her face. 

“Not yet. The water got into more than I expected - the wiring’s all dead. We should go out and get some more wire.” Chloe felt Max push her legs to the side to sit down on the other side of the couch, then pull her legs back onto her lap. It was nostalgic and gave Chloe a faint, warm sense of  déjà vu.

“Haven’t we done this before?” Chloe asked as she pulled the jacket off her face, looking down and smiling faintly. Max half slapped her foot. 

“Shh.” They both settled back, relaxing slowly. Chloe took a deep breath in and out. Doctor Miranti would be proud. 

The growing noon light stretched over the room from the tall windows outlooking the beautiful part of the city. Chloe’s face turned towards the light, squinting to see the buildings past the glare. 

“You’re going back to school in a couple of days, no?”

“Next Monday.”

Chloe sighed a short burst through her nose. “Two days, huh?” She felt slightly sad, but not unduly worried, as she might have once been. Something has definitely changed. “That’s not too bad.”

Max looked at her, a little hesitant. “You wouldn’t be too lonely cooped up in here all day without me, will you?” 

Chloe reached down with her hand and patted Max’s hand. “No, no. Actually, I wanted to tell you something.” A pause. “I’ve found a job. Well, it’s iffy for now, the boss wants me to come in and do a trial run. I’ll be a cashier for 7/11. It’s not the best, but it’s something.”

She sat up a little, propping herself up on her elbows. “Is that okay with you?”

Max was smiling ear to ear. Chloe smiled back, and swung her legs off the couch, scootching closer to her. She brought her right arm around the smaller girl’s shoulders, hugging her close.

“Have fun in school, Max. Soon, though, you’ll be out. Only a couple more months!” Max could see through her fake enthusiasm instantly, and fixed her with a stare.

“Anyhow, have you forgotten it’s Halloween?” 

Chloe laughed. “I stopped celebrating that a long time ago. I doubt anyone sane would open the door to a blue-haired tattooed stoner, anyways.” 

Max shoved her gently. “Don’t want to dress up like a rockstar or, I dunno, a video game character?”

“No need. I already feel like I’m in a video game. You should, too, you’re the one with fancy space-time-ripping powers.”

“I don’t think I have them anymore, and believe me, that’s for the best.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

They sat for a while in silence.

“But it’s Halloween, so… I guess we could watch a horror movie?” Max suggested. 

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you had enough balls for a scary movie. Sure, let’s do that. Got any good ones you wanna watch? We can pirate it off the internet, I’ve got a great site. I’ve got a site for anything. Are you into kinky porn? I've got that too.”

She had no idea why Max punched her, then kissed her afterward.

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this because I was getting tired drumming my feet and twiddling my thumbs waiting for Life is Strange 3. Or 2. Because that prequel did not count. Chloe is awesome, but c'mon, Square Enix and DontNod!
> 
> I know a lot of other people wrote sequels, and great! I should check some of them out sometime. For now, I haven't been reading any other sequel thoroughly (checked some of them out, must remember to read later) because I might accidentally steal ideas, and I want to keep my plot clean, but in the beginning, it's all the same. Angst, road trips, romance.
> 
> As a side note, I also have a Deviantart, on which there's a wide variety of arts, with some Life is Strange fanart. Check it out sometime! https://sinnexcryllic.deviantart.com/


End file.
